The Marine & the Debutante

Lisa stopped, too, waiting for him. He might be irritating, but as far as she was concerned, he was the rescuer and she was going to stick to him like glue.

“Keep going,” he shouted, the need for silence apparently lost with the first blast.

“Where?” she demanded, not moving another step.

“Son of a—” His voice broke off and he pulled another something out from yet another bush, and this time she was close enough to watch him. His fingers moved surely, efficiently. He flipped up a small, clear-plastic dome, flicked a silver switch and then moved his thumb to a bright-green glowing button. He punched it, and another blast rocked the desert night.

This one was closer and Lisa stared at it, awestruck by the fierce beauty of it. But beneath the roar of the explosion, she heard shouts. Angry shouts.

And she knew her captors were chasing them.

“This can’t be good.”

“Darlin’, none of this is good,” he muttered, jumping to his feet and grabbing her hand. “Let’s get the lead out, huh?”

They ran.

And ran.

And when she thought she’d drop, when she was wishing she could take her aching legs off and throw them away, they ran some more.

“Runnin’ late. Not gonna make it,” he said, more to himself than to her.

She swallowed hard, fought for breath and still managed to ask, “You mean the helicopter?”

“Damn straight.”

“We have to make it.”

He threw her a worried look. “The extraction point’s up ahead.”

Extraction? Sounded like a dental visit, which would have been more fun than this.

From far off she heard the dull slap of a helicopter’s blades whipping the air. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. Close, she thought. So close. They’d make it. They had to make it.

Every step was a trial.

Every breath a victory.

Behind them she heard voices. Shouts. And the occasional gunshot. Lisa winced and instinctively ducked her head as they ran forward. The wash from the chopper blades pushed at them. In the indistinct light she saw other men—two, then three—sprinting for the helicopter. A Marine stood in the open door, an automatic weapon in his hand, spitting gunfire, covering their escape.

Then that Marine crumpled as if he’d been a puppet and someone had cut his strings. A moment later she heard a rifle shot, followed by several more in quick succession.

“Get down, damn it!” the man behind her said, crouching and pulling her down with him.

“Why are we waiting?” she demanded, looking up at him, trying to read his expression through the camouflage war paint he wore.

“We won’t make it,” he said tightly. “Too much open ground. They’ll pick us off.”

“We—we have to make it,” she said, shifting her gaze back to the helicopter where another Marine had taken the place of the first one. He fired quick, staccato bursts from his weapon, and flashes of fire erupted from the barrel of his gun.

“Can’t.”

“No.” She couldn’t go back to that place. To being a prisoner. She wouldn’t. Lisa half stood, determined to make a run for the only way out.

But she didn’t get a step.

He yanked her back down with such force, her butt slammed into the ground. His grip on her upper arm tightened and he pulled her around to face him.

“We can’t make it. And if they sit here much longer waitin’ on us, they won’t get out, either.”

Panic reared its ugly head. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. “What are you saying?”

He didn’t bother to explain. Instead he stood up briefly, hitched his rifle high over his head and waved it in some sort of silent signal.

“No,” she said, hoping he hadn’t done what she thought he had. “Don’t do that!”

“Come on,” he said tightly, dragging her off to the right, deeper into the shadows.

Lisa looked back as the helicopter lifted off, taking her only means of escape with it.

Two

Travis kept a tight hold on the woman’s hand and ran for it. He could only hope that their pursuers were still far enough away that some fast running and clever hiding would do the trick. If they could get gone quick enough, the men still firing rifles at a now-disappearing chopper, would assume that their prey had escaped in that helicopter. If he could get the woman stumbling along behind him to shut up and move. As he’d already learned, that was no easy task.

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded.

He had to give her credit. Even in her fury, she kept her voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry across the desert.

“It’s been said,” he agreed, darting a quick look back over his shoulder. No pursuit yet. Good. Keep moving, he told himself.

“You waved them off,” she continued, stunned disbelief coloring her voice. “I saw you. The helicopter was there. They were waiting for us. Our only escape and you waved them off!”

He shot her a glare that would have terrified a lesser woman. Naturally, it didn’t have the slightest effect on the one woman he wanted it to.

“You’re insane,” she muttered.

“I’m startin’ to agree with you,” he snapped. Who else but a crazy man would volunteer for such a mission? He could have been on leave back home. Of course, then his sisters would have been ragging on him. But at least they were family. “Now shut the hell up and follow me.”

“Like I have a choice,” she managed to say breathlessly.

They kept going, and one part of Travis’s mind gave quiet thanks for the terrain. This wasn’t the kind of desert that you found out in the middle of the Mojave. The real desert was farther out. This area was more like the landscape that he grew up with back in Texas. Sand, sure, but more rocky. With clumps of bushes and a few sparse but hardy trees. A ring of low-lying hills, which probably passed for mountains around here, surrounded them, and he was hoping to find refuge there.

The darkness was their friend.

They could lose themselves in the night and hopefully, before dawn, they’d be huddled in a cave somewhere and he’d have a chance to think of alternate escape plans. While he ran, making sure the princess was keeping up with him, his mind worked the problem. He had water. And rations. And a radio and weapons. He could do this. They could do this.

It was just going to take some creativity. Adapting and overcoming. Hell, he’d been trained for just this sort of thing. And damned if he wasn’t going to pull it off.